


Dangan Ronpa Re:Kindle Re:Start

by Wiccacow



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Near Future, Original Character(s), POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiccacow/pseuds/Wiccacow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A companion piece to Re:Kindle, in which the story doesn't end after death, and death has its own mysteries. Life stops with a light at the end of a tunnel, but death begins with a lighthouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Obituary

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Dangan Ronpa Re:kindle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086254) by [Deadcanons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadcanons/pseuds/Deadcanons). 



> This entire thing is a companion piece to a friendfic for the Dangan Ronpa universe (making this a fanfic of a fanfic, a fanfanfic) and therefore contains wild spoilers for Re:Kindle. It is meant to be read beside or after it. 
> 
> All the persons in this fic are character representations of real people, and each chapter has been proofed by people who can confirm or deny out-of-characterness, so it is hopefully believable enough even for those who are reading their own point of view.

  
It was raining.

He had heard a lot of ideas about the afterlife. Rain had never been in any of them.

The sand clung wetly to him, blanketing half his body. He almost laughed.

He sat up in no real hurry, observing his surroundings. Waves rolled along the shore, reflecting the pale gray of the sky. A thick fog hung in the air, limiting his view of the water greatly. No way to gauge whether it was a lake or an ocean.

Wiggling out of the sand, he noted it looked more like ash. In fact, upon standing up, everything seemed very monochrome; the grass was a slate gray, the far away trees lacked any speck of green. Even his hands seemed devoid of colour, like the saturation had been turned down on his skin, though he could still detect hints of pink remaining in his fingertips.

A change caught the corner of his eye, but when he looked nothing seemed different. His instincts told him to wait, and he obeyed. Sure enough, it came again; the mist down the shore glowed a very pale blue, then darkened again.

Having nothing better to do, he decided to investigate.

Under his feet the pseudo-ash began to give way to pebbles, then pebbles to rocks, then rocks to small boulders. The light didn't appear to get any brighter, but the mist seemed to part a little, and he found himself gazing at a large lighthouse.

For some reason he hadn't expected the door to be unlocked. Inside he found two more doors and a staircase. It seemed the tower had more floors than the conventional lighthouse. He attempted the door on the right, and found the loose knob granted him entry, despite the keyhole suggesting it was capable of locking. The room was bare save for a small, curiously stained mattress, and a jar containing a preserved heart.

For reasons he couldn't give words to, he searched his pockets and came out with a key. A quick check confirmed it was the key for the room. Despite the place being devoid of residents, the key's utility gave him comfort.

They key wasn't compatible with the other door, but that room also proved unlocked. The mattress inside was much cleaner and looked more comfortable, and shards of broken flint lay scattered about the floor.

His own heart jumped into his throat, and then promptly dropped back into his stomach. This was a room meant for Olivia, and the other room was meant for him. Was she here? Had she been here? Was... was her heart the one in the jar?

His body felt gritty, like sand was still stuck to him. His stomach balled and felt hard as a rock. The feeling was relieved somewhat when he fled the room, but still he found himself running outside and vomiting on the grass.

He vomited up dirt. He would've been surprised if it hadn't felt so appropriate.

Maybe she hadn't come yet. Maybe she was headed toward the rotating spotlight, like he had. She could be there any minute.

He decided to try and go up the stairs. There were more rooms, but the mere thought of looking inside them made him feel ill again. At the top he covered his eyes to prevent the light from blinding him, though he soon discovered the light wasn't very intense at all: he could look directly at it and feel no strain.

There wasn't much of a view, but he might be able to catch Olivia's approach better than on the ground. Watching the waves crash on the rocks smoothed his uneasy stomach.

He began to count the waves.

_... ...Twelve... thirteen..._   
_...nineteen..._   
_...twenty-three..._

Would Olivia show up with a hole in her chest?

_...twenty-four ....twenty-five..._   
  
Maybe he could use his talents to put her heart back...   
_  
...twenty-six..._  
 _...thirty-three...._   
  
Or maybe the afterlife didn't work quite so literally. It wasn't that long ago he up-chucked dirt.

Nothing seemed to change here. It was still raining, and he estimated he'd already been there an hour. Did time work the same way as in real life? Had days passed already in that world, or only minutes?

He didn't even believe in an afterlife. This was some fucking bullshit. Anyways, he thought after-death was supposed to offer answers. Instead he had enough questions to make his head spin.

Well, he supposed he now knew that there was an afterlife. Didn't count for much. He definitely preferred nothingness.

Hours more passed, and he wondered if post-death bodies needed sleep. Or food. The mattress made him think sleep was required, and food was pretty connected to that. But if that was true, he hadn't seen any sources of food. Except the unappetizing looking grass. Or the heart...

He hoped Olivia would arrive soon, to liberate him from that train of thought. And... so he could apologize.

The rain continued at the same rate, and eventually he retreated inside to what he could only call 'his' room. He made a mark on the wall to indicate the passing hour or so.

After three marks he was cradling the preserved heart. After six he decided to wander out on the grass, towards the trees. When he ventured too far, however, closer to the treeline, he felt as if he was being pulled back to the lighthouse.

After eight marks, he tried to sleep, and found that he could not.

By twelve, he attempted to open the jar, and found that he could not.

By fourteen he tried to enter Olivia's room again, and found himself vomiting sand into the grass again.

"Is there anything _I can_ do...?" he muttered bitterly, brushing sand off his chin.

He stopped keeping track after twenty-four marks. It appeared the dead didn't need sleep, after all. The revelation cheered him none.

This obviously wasn't heaven. So, was it a personal hell? It seemed pretty tame for any concept of hell. Still... Would he remain alone here, with reminders of his guilt until the end of time?

He vaguely wondered if it was possible to die again. He considered testing the theory, but one day seemed a little early to be phoning it in.

Struck with wanderlust once more, he began to walk along the shore. Was this place an island? How big was it? Maybe he could find out.

Or not. As soon as he wandered past the area he'd woken in, he was brought to his knees with violent pain, expelling more soil from his stomach.

"God fu---cking damnit!" he coughed, spitting out gobs of sand. "This is bullshit! Am I supposed to be a reverse human landfill every time I try to distract myself with some shit that's actually fucking useful?!"

He let out a roar of frustration, balling his hands in the dirt. It was just like all of Monobear's stupid arbitrary fucking rules and punishments.

Disregarding the rain, he tore off his clothes, throwing them in a haphazard pile. Disregarding the cold, he ran into the rolling waters, diving when he approached an appropriate depth. The temperature shocked his system, but if he couldn't feel hunger or sleep, he doubted the cold could kill him.

Floating under the waves, he opened his eyes. Not surprisingly, his vision was limited to about an arm's breadth. Still... it was calming. He could hear nothing, and all his weight was gone. He was used to the cold now, and found the waters pleasant. It was almost like a dreamless sleep.

Remarkably, it didn't even appear as though he needed to breathe. Actually... he couldn't remember a moment outside of vomiting where he had tried at all.

The relaxation left him as he emerged into the cold rain, putting his clothes back on while muttering.

Pen and paper were nowhere to be found, and he didn't feel patient enough to carve the wall up more. Searching aimlessly for anything that worked as a substitute pencil, he return to the room with a handful of wet charcoal he found just lying out in the grass. He chose not to question it, for now. His writing was messy thanks to the quality of the instrument, and it smeared everywhere imaginable. "Well, I guess I'll have to go skinny dipping again," he murmured, unable to rub off the black from his skin.

His scrawling read thusly:  
  


_'Vomiting sand does not seem to have random triggers, but the pattern is unclear. Times so far:_

_1\. Going into Olivia's room_   
_2\. Going past the waking spot_   
_3\. Approaching the treeline_   
  


_The environment here seems_ ' he paused, considering word options. Then added, ' _constant_.'

He couldn't think of anything else to add, and instead of brainstorming more he walked back to the 'waking spot'. To him, it looked like the beginning of a grave being dug. He found it... really comical, actually.

Standing straight, clearing his throat, he spoke as if reciting from a text.

"Here previously lay the woefully intact body of Ryan Kinkaid. The poor bastard expected nothing after death and instead found himself in a grayscale moody hipster gif, and the proud owner of the shittiest superpower anyone could have fathomed."

He made a grand flourish to an unseeable audience. "He will ever now be known as The Colossal Fuck Up and The Bringer of First Blood, no, the TAKER of First Blood! May all revile him and spit on his grave. But remember his intentions, though intentions don't pardon results, as horrible medical experiments throughout history have shown. Despite intentions, he is Worse Than Hitler!" Eventually he was laughing too hard to continue.

And at that moment, the rain stopped.


	2. Deluge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second victim, second chances.

She woke to a gentle touch on her arm. Her eyes remained closed as she feigned sleep, collecting her thoughts. Her first thought was that the back of her head was killing her. The second was that her chest was heavy.

With the second nudge she opened her eyes slowly, looking above her to see Ryan.

"Glad to see you're not dead. Or, I guess you are. Whoops."

Neither the phrase or the ironic tone struck her as strange. It gave the feeling of truth; she felt no reason to argue it.

Her palms dug into the rocks below her, lifting herself up. Ryan's hand gave he shoulder a steadying grip. "Easy. Take it slow."

But she was no worse for speed. She felt fine, despite her headache.

"Your- whao." he sucked air through his teeth, "Holy fuck. Your head..."

Her hand ghosted the back of her skull, and she felt hair matted together with... she pinched some between her fingers, bringing them in front of her eyes. Dried blood.

"Does it hurt?" he asked reflexively.

She shook her head and opened her mouth to note her headache, but a torrent of water poured out of her mouth.

"Jesus fuck-!" he cursed.

She kept her mouth open, and eventually the stream died down to a trickle. To her, it felt... appropriate. She couldn't think as to why, though.

"...Can you speak?" He asked cautiously.

With a quick clearing of her throat, she found she was capable of speech.

"Yeah," she rasped.

Ryan seemed to relax, his shoulders lowering. "Well, welcome to the afterlife, where everything is bland and nothing changes. Well, except for the rain, I guess."

What rain? she mused silently, but then supposed he was merely implying that it had been raining.

"Hey, how did you die?" he started suddenly, "Actually, stupid question. Obviously head trauma. But, _who_ killed you?"

The memories surrounding the recollection were fuzzy. She sighed after some minutes."I don't remember..."

Ryan seemed annoyed, but said nothing about it. "Well, let me show you to the lighthouse, and you can tell me what you do remember."

So she told him about Monobear's new motive, about what little she could recall of things people had said or did. In return, he talked about the invisible boundaries of the place. She wondered if they were boundaries for her, too, and made a mental note to test them.

He lead her inside, showering her the two rooms of the first floor. "This one's mine, and I think this one's Olivia's. Only, the thing is, I haven't seen her, or any sign of her since I got here. I can't go in without wanting to vomit."

The last statement probably explained the shocked look on his face when she entered, wandered about, and even picked up the flint with no sign of discomfort. His jaw hung open a little, but he said nothing.

"Maybe boundaries aren't the same from person-to-person," she suggested gently.

He shrugged, feigning apathy. "Maybe."

"I'll explore the other boundaries you mentioned, later." She stated, moving to leave the room. She was stopped by her heacache worsening to the point she was clutching her temples, gritting her teeth.

"...you okay?" Ryan asked flatly, remaining beyond the doorway.

She tried to snap at him, but instead began coughing up water.

"Oh shit, uh, listen, you don't have to breathe in the afterlife, so if you stop breathing you'll stop coughing. Hopefully?"

Except trying to do that made her cough harder. Flipping him off first, she covered her mouth with both hands, diaphram hurting with the spasms. In the process, she dropped the piece of flint she'd been carrying. Soon after, her coughing and headache subsided.

"Ow," she rasped, rubbing her ribs.

"That seemed similar to what happens to me when I tested boundaries. Only I vomited dirt instead."

She stared blankly at him. Then burst into fits of uncontrollable giggles.

"Oh my god that is so stupid" she wheezed.

"Yeah, hilarious." He snarked. "Now, do you want to explore more or not?"

"Just a second," she impored, winded. She stooped over to pick up the flint she dropped, heading for the door again. Only to be struck with more pain and more coughing.

"Looks like you can't remove that from the room," he intoned thoughtfully.

"No-- shit," she coughed, tossing the flint back in the pile. No souvenirs allowed, it seemed.

She found his room much more interesting. "What's with the graffiti?"

He almost seemed... embarrassed. "I just wrote down the, er, 'rules', of this damn place. Guess I can write 'no theft allowed'."

She paused, touching her chin. "But is that it? Have you tried removing that heart from the room?"

His ears flushed a little. It was obvious he'd been trying to hide the jar in the corner. "No." he admitted bitterly.

"Well, let the science begin," she chimed.

They quickly demonstrated that they both could remove the heart from the room, and even the lighthouse without symptoms.

"The shit? That hardly seems fair," Ryan grumbled.

"Maybe because it's not yours, exactly," she breathed.

He grew silent, examining the jar. "Actually, that makes sense. Maybe we should go to your room, try this on whatever's inside."

The thought made her heart droop a little. "...can we do that later?" She didn't know what would be in the room. She didn't want to find out yet. Or ever, really. If she never went in, she wouldn't have to try and remember what happened to her, and maybe she could pretend like they weren't both dead. Like this was another life, another chance.

He blinked. "Yeah, sure. We can test more of the boundaries or whatever."

She smiled weakly. "Thanks."

They were silent as they walked past Ryan's depression in the sand, of which she seemed to be able to continue far past him. She returned after going twenty feet with no ill effects. As they ventured towards the trees the mortician spoke up. "Hey... how was Flynt doing? He didn't turn into a sobbing mess after I was gone, did he?"

She shrugged slowly. "It seemed to his us all pretty hard. But he kept trying his best to keep us being productive. And... making sure we were heard. But," she looked to Ryan, her brows knit together, "I think it hurt him far more than he was letting on. Putting a brave face on, you know."

He nodded knowingly, his hand gingerly over his stomach. "I don't think I can go further."

She looked at him, puzzled. "Well, I feel fine. I'll walk past the treeline, see if that changes."  
He crouched close to the ground, arms wrapped around his stomach. "Fuck..." he groaned.

The air beyond the treeline lacked most of the salty tang of the sea. Despite not needing to, Pam found herself breathing deeply, enjoying the scent. It smelled of pleasant solitude.

On impulse, she started running, sprinting, even, leaping over roots, darting between trees. If Ryan had called out to her, she wouldn't have heard it. She was free, in the most basic of senses. The rules for Ryan didn't apply to her, there were no fences, there was no one to stop her. No hunger, no sleep. She could run for an eternity, if she liked.

The salty air hit her like a brick as she abruptly came to the end of the forest. Her heels dug into the grass to halt her path, her eyes going wide as saucers.

"So?" Ryan asked, still crouching, "How far did you get?"

What? She... she had been going stright. She hadn't turned in the slightest.

Ryan looked up from his feet, his feelings of illness etched into his face. "Did you see something, or what?"

She couldn't comprehend it. Ryan had mentioned feeling a pull back to the lighthouse, but she had felt no such thing. Had she missed something?

"Heeeey, Earth to Pam, did the forest eat your brains? You concious?"

She swallowed. "Yeah. There was nothing."

His brow raised. "Nothing doesn't usually make people charge out of the woods and have a look on their face that says 'I Have Seen Unspeakable Things'"

He laughed a little, and she managed a weak smile. "I just wanted some exercise. I didn't see anything. Honest." And really, she wasn't lying.

"Alright, if you say so." he conceded, but he didn't seem convinced in the slightest.

Having tested all the boundaries they headed back to the lighthouse. Ryan offered to show her where her room likely was, but she declined. So they sat on his dingy mattress, adding new rules and annotations to the old ones.

' _Pam's headaches so far have had only one trigger; trying to remove the flint from Olivia's room. We think theft is disallowed, and Olivia's heart can be removed from my room because it is not mine.'_

It made them realize that they hadn't really learned much of anything.

"Hey, can I borrow some charchoal?" Pam asked suddenly.

"Huh? Uh, sure."

Clutching the damp and brittle stick, she moved outside of the room. Ryan followed her, curious, looking puzzled as she shut his door. She began writing on it.  
  


_'One appeared_  
 _Where there should have been two_  
 _Alone on the rocks_  
 _Of the lighthouse.'_  
  


"That's kind of..." he made a vague hand gesture when she looked to him. "...You going to do any other rooms?"

She nodded, moving over to Olivia's door, then pausing in thought. She wrote cautiously,  
  


_'Zero never appeared_  
 _Her room empty and untouched_  
 _Missing from the rocks_  
 _Of the lighthouse.'_  
  


She wasn't happy with having to resort to using 'zero', but if she thought of it in the context of 'ground zero' she became a little more content with it.

"It's not untouched, though," Ryan pointed out.

"This part of the poem comes before yours, and it was untouched before you." She tapped the side of her head with the charchoal. "Gotta keep chronology in mind."

"Okay, well, are you going to do yours?"

She considered it. Maybe it was time.  
  


_'A second appeared_  
 _And washed ashore with the tide_  
 _Gasping on the rocks_  
 _Of the lighthouse.'_  
  


Stepping back to admire her handiwork, she felt comforted, less apprehensive about the room. She phished a key out of her pocket with no second thought as to how it got there or how she knew with absolute certainty that it was there. It was the afterlife, and to her it seemed there were certain things she just knew. One upside of the place, she supposed.

But she felt that old fear creep in again. She didn't want to even wonder what was in the room. To distract herself, she attempted to go into the room beside hers, but her head felt like it was going to split open.

"Maybe we should wait a bit more," Ryan tried, "Come on; I can show you the view."

The view was pretty shitty, if she did say so herself. And she did. Outloud. "This view is shitty."

"Yep." Ryan returned.

Laughing a little, she took up a spot facing the forest. From what she could tell, the forest looked endless, but from what she knew...

"Who do you think will arrive next?" Ryan asked suddenly.

She sighed. She didn't want to think about it. She said nothing, and he seemed to get the hint. "Sorry." He muttered.

She shrugged. Not talking was easier.

"It's just.... I'm torn between hoping to see so and so again, and not wanting to see them. Because if we see them..."

_It means they were killed. Committed murder, even._

"...Anyways, maybe you can find something in that forest. Something useful, something for decoration, whatever."

Maybe she could. She would have to look next time she explored the place. Maybe there was something going on there.

It was hard to keep track of time. It was like those summer days with fluctuating flows of time. It felt... relieving, to no longer have to be anxious about the passing of hours or days. Maybe eternity wouldn't be so bad.

Finding solace and peace in those thoughts, she felt ready to enter her room.

She tested the key on her newly marked door, even as she knew it would work. She pushed the door open gingerly, as if it would crumble under her pressure. Inside, a clean mattress waited for her, accompanied by a branch.

"Was... that what you were killed with?"

She couldn't remember, but with the object in Olivia's room being flint, it seemed likely that the branch was her murderer's weapon. She approached it slowly, kneeling. The instant her fingertips brushed against it, memories both hers and not flashed through her brain. She saw through her own eyes yelling and punching Buck. Then she saw the same thing through the eyes of another, their hands raised with the branch, coming down with a crack on her skull.

She grinned, practically hugging the branch.

She saw the clothes and heard the voice of her murderer.

"The tables have tabled," she laughed quietly.

Outside, it began to rain.


	3. Tempest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rift in friends, a rift in planes.

The jolt of the waves crashing over her body roused her from a slumber she didn't choose. Her body wasn't cold despite the wet and the rain, and her first thought was one of confusion. Why was she wet? She thought hell was all fire and brimstone and demons and shit. This - waters and fog - that hadn't been in the brochure.

It would've been the perfect material for a text post. _'i thought hell was supposed to be hot wtf is this cold and foggy shit'_

Or maybe _'there's fog and rain and shit this isn't hell did I get off at the wrong stop'_

Or even _'apparently hell looks a lot like shutter island'_

She laughed to herself and accidentally swallowed a gallon of the next unexpected wave.

The weakness of her body only became apparent when she stood after deciding she'd had enough of that asshole water. Collapsing dramatically on the grass, she rolled onto her stomach. Why was she feeling so weak? Being dead, shouldn't she be free of all physical and earthly burdens?

_... And what of the emotional ones?_

She rubbed angrily at her watering eyes. She missed Buck. She hated that she missed him. If it weren't for him, she'd be alive! But... she couldn't bring herself to hate him. Only his misguided actions.

At least the grass was sort of comfortable. Though wet. Very wet. Kind of gross.

The fog above her glowed. She blinked, dismissed it as her eyes doing the weird thing they do when you try and stare into the apex of the sky, and then it happened again. Was that a purgatory thing? Regularly glowing skies, like a shitty colourless rave? Man, how cool would it be if the sky was a strobe-light and thunder deep bass? She pumped her arms up to an imaginary beat as she envisioned such a glorious afterlife.

In doing so, she noticed her arms. They were.... There were holes in them. She sat up abruptly, eyes wide. Two, circular holes, neatly through her flesh, where.... Where she'd been impaled. A quick check confirmed a hole through her chest, under her shirt. "Hoooooly fuuuuuuuck," she wiggled her finger through the hole. Honestly? This was fucking cool. Really cool!

Once thoroughly entertained by these shortcuts through her body she began to look about herself, squinting through the fog. It became clear that slow strobe was coming from a specific direction and was not just a cool feature of the afterlife's sky. Damn. That probably meant she was out of luck with the bass thunder too. She mourned the loss of an afterlife rave.

Inspecting the source of the light proved a difficult path, what with the unexplained weakness. Breaks were frequent; after all it wasn't like she was in any sort of hurry. The rain, previously not touching her sensibilities, began to soak and chill her to the bone. And it felt really fucking weird when it ran through her gaping holes. Like, pins and needles weird. Like, 'can it not' weird.

Eventually she had dragged her cold wet ass far enough to see the great fuzz of a lighthouse in the distance, along with a significantly shorter, smaller fuzz that was getting closer. Clearly, a person-shaped fuzz. Oh thank god, she could stop dragging herself now. Wait. Why didn't she question who was coming towards her? Well, she was dead. So... maybe a demon, come to drag her to a hellish prison, making this dank ass grass the weird unorthodox waiting room to hell. Or maybe it was literally anything else. There was always that. Who knew. She just wished they'd hurry up.

The shape gained more definition, and it became clear they were holding something. And that there was someone pursuing them, by the sounds of the distant shouting. Dani had many lines in mind to greet the shape, but when they neared enough to be identified, all quips fled her head.

"P....Pam...?" she breathed. Why would Pam be here? Wasn't this hell? Why-

Her thoughts turned into stars as Pam cracked her across the face with a branch.

"You killed me! You _killed_ me!" Pam screamed, knuckles white around the branch.

"I...," she clutched at her temple, looking up at Pam, "I didn't... didn't mean to... I..." she couldn't line up her words with her intent. They were bouncing around her skull, throbbing with the rest of her brain matter.

"MOTHER FUCKER!" the poet shrieked, swinging again. Dani flattened herself against the ground this time, face burning with the reminder of the previous go.

"Pam, STOP!" came another familiar voice, but Dani's head was swimming.. When she looked up again, Ryan was grappling with Pam, trying to wrestle the branch from her.

"Let me GO!"

"Dani! Run! I'll-"

"RYAN SHE KILLED ME!"

"GO!"

Apparently she needed to be told twice, but three times? That would be embarrassing. So Dani got her butt in gear, putting her holey limbs to good use.

She sprinted towards the treeline, thinking there'd be plentiful hiding places in a flippin' forest. That is, if her body didn't suddenly become a lightning rod of agony once she reached it. The pain was searing , intensely concentrated at the edges of her holes. She collapsed and scrambled away from the trees, throat hoarse with the scream she hadn't been aware of sourcing. _Wh- What the fuck! What the fuck! Why the fuck-? What the fuck!_

_What the FUCK!_

Her entire body was wobbling wildly, but she needed to move. Clamping her jaw shut tight, she forced herself to her feet, and began running parallel to the trees. The ground became more firm under her feet, until it was straight up rock. Her heels were almost not enough to stop her from running straight off a cliff. The water roared up the rock face, its spray sticking to her face, the force of the water whipping her hair around.

Her first thought was to jump. Would it kill her? She was already dead - yet she could still feel potent pain. Better play it safe. Option, options... She got to her knees, looking down at the jagged shore. She could make out what looked to be a safe-enough surface. It would get her out of Pam's warpath.

_'tfw ur friend tries to kill u w/ a branch'_

She was still shaking like a leaf flattened against the wet rock, edging herself lower, sideways, anyways that the stone would allow. Her fingers found what she thought was a depression, but found the rock fell away under her grasp and, very gracefully, the rest of her followed with a yelp.

The cave enveloped her, taking her out of the rain and the cold. Well, maybe less of the cold. Out of the wind, certainly. With a groan she propped herself up on the unyielding stone, looking out over the choppy waters. Distantly, she could hear Pam and Ryan's voices, growing more distant still; Soon, she was alone.

The rock walls surrounding her were the only witness to her hot tears. "Pam-" she croaked, rubbing her nose. She hugged her knees to her chest, nails digging into the denim. "I-I didn't.... I didn't m-mean to! I-" She'd only meant to knock her out, to stop her! She had just been protecting Buck... She felt horrible and dirty. Pam deserved to be somewhere better, away from Dani.

_I deserve to rot in this fucking cave._

Hours passed, but her skin was woefully intact. Hours more, and she still felt no need for sleep or food. So, was pain the only earthly sensation left her? Was it the same for Pam? She rubbed her face where the branch had struck her. She deserved more than that. The idea stuck with her. Then it morphed into a decision: she would approach the lighthouse again and let Pam unleash hell on Dani.

It was markedly more difficult to climb up the cliff than down, especially with the rain spitting in her eyes. Much teeth-gritting and nail-digging was needed for the task.

She saw no sign of Ryan or Pam on her way to the lighthouse, only hearing tell of them once inside, voices murmuring from behind one of two doors. She approached quietly, reading the scrawling on both doors;

_'Zero never appeared_   
_Her room empty and untouched_   
_Missing from the rocks_   
_Of the lighthouse._

  
_One appeared_   
_Where there should have been two_   
_Alone on the rocks_   
_Of the lighthouse'_

  
_Were these for the people who died? Seemed Pam's style. Which made her wonder, where was Olivia? She didn't think Pam would give her that information without more screaming and swinging._

And the doors captured her curiosity...

Taking a beating from Pam could wait.

Carefully finding her footing, she conquered the staircase, and was met with two more doors and two more poems:

_'A second appeared_   
_And washed ashore with the tide_   
_Gasping on the rocks_   
_Of the lighthouse._

  
_A third appeared_   
_And hid from the two_   
_Gone from the rocks_   
_Of the lighthouse.'_

Weight lifted from her shoulders upon seeing Pam did not write ill of her. She had every right to, truly.

Something prompted her to check her pockets, finding a small iron key there. She opened the door she dedueced to be hers, the room bare save for a matress and a skull.

Quietly as she could, she closed the door behind her, locking it for an extra layer of privacy. The mattress was thin, but a good spot to sit to stare at the skull. It was in a jar, staring back at her. Eventually she pulled it into her lap, turning it over. There was a nasty looking depression in the back of the bone, confirming her suspicion: it was Pam's skull. How surreal and morbid.

Tears clouded her vision once more, and she found herself hugging the jar tightly.

"I'm sorry Buck I'm sorry Pam, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so..."

Outside, the rain stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The true chapter summary
> 
> Dani: Hey gu-  
> Pam: hits dani in the face with a branch


	4. Umbrage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An artist of words and an artist of sight

His body jerked, as if waking from a dream of falling, thrusting his hands into the sand at his sides to steady himself. The grains clung to his sweat, cold as the sea breeze. Was that a dream? No - he could still feel the ghosts of the killer's hands around him. That was real. So where was this? He swallowed. _Where is Jae?_

"I told you!"

Ohanzee sat up and looked towards the voice, gaze met by Ryan and Pam. This was definitely the afterlife if they were here, he concluded.

"I wasn't doubting you, I was just non-committal, since I wasn't there and all," Pam noted.

"Yeah, well, suck it, because I was right."

"Pfft, whatever."

Ohanzee walked toward them to close the distance, putting on a quizzical face. "What were you right about?"

Ryan's smirk was plump with triumph. "That the rain stopping meant someone new had arrived on our chilly shores," he explained, dramatically gesturing to the entirety of everything, "It stopped when Pam showed up, and started again when Dani arrived. So, it's my theory that rain equals culprit, no rain equals victim."

Ohanzee stared openly. He thought about saying something rude, about how he didn't have time for speculating with Jae in danger, but he took a mental step back and steadied himself. If this was the afterlife, then Jae probably wasn't here, and he hoped it stayed that way. But maybe time worked differently here...

"Did you all wake up here? In the same spot?" he asked. If Jae was here, he'd find him.

"No," started Ryan, pointing further along the beach, "I woke up down there, and Pam woke up the other direction."

Ohanzee followed his finger, squinting. "Is this an island?"

"We're not sure," rejoined Pam, "Ryan can't advance past his spot, and I haven't tried the whole way round."

_Why can't Ryan move past his spot?_ he thought of asking, but Jae was first and foremost in his mind. The definite priority. So instead of standing around asking questions he started off toward the pointed direction. "Time to find out," he murmured.

Pam jogged to catch up with him, while Ryan stayed put. "Well, I'll be at the lighthouse I guess, _cool._ Go where I cannot follow and share the details afterwards," his voice grew fainter as he walked his own way, but the mocking tone was crystal clear, "Stay safe, make good choices!"

Silence was exchanged, Ohanzee focused on scanning the horizon for Jae. As they passed a person-sized depression in the sand, Pam cleared her throat. "Mind if I catch you up on what we've learned? Or, should I maybe save it for later?"

"Later," Ohanzee grumbled with clear discontent, then sighed. "Sorry Pam. It's not your fault, I-" he swallowed, eyes flicking over the ash-like sand, "... I found the killer in the middle of... killing Jae. I... think it was Enoch..."

Pam covered her mouth with her hand, which Ohanzee read as genuine, and not just a show. "Oh my god..."

Ohanzee nodded solemnly. "But I'm going to find him. I'm going to find Jae, and then we're going to find Enoch, and we're going to make him pay." Dying wouldn't get him out of this, he vowed.

Pam bit her lip, gaze turning downward. "What if... What if they don't solve it? What if he gets away with it?"

Ohanzee smiled for the first time since coming there. "Not gunna happen."

Pam looked at him with furrowed brows. "But how do you...?"

"Dude, you really think they won't figure it out? You don't give them enough credit. Flynt, Gigi, Max, Neil... they're all unstoppable."

She didn't respond directly, but he saw a smile dance at the corners of her lips.

Put in the mood for chatter, Ohanzee had Pam spend the walk catching him up on the event and 'guidelines' of this weird place. Which only got weirder as they found themselves stepping over Ryan's spot again.

Pam heaved a sigh. "Of course, it's just like the forest. It somehow turns us around..."

"Well, I'm going to continue walking, see if Jae's on the other side."

Pam nodded. "I'll stop at the lighthouse. I got a poem I have to write on your door."

Ohanzee blinked slowly, "Uh okay? Don't write anything emo on my door. Or worse, a meme."

The poet grinned wildly, raising her right hand in mime of an oath. "Promise, though no promises that I won't draw a meme _beside_ your door."

" _Criminal_!" Ohanzee hissed, then laughed loudly.

They said their temporary farewells, leaving Ohanzee alone with his thoughts. Not the worst thing, since his stomach was where worry and dread lived at the moment. In truth, he was glad for a moment of peace in this change of location. The surroundings made him feel subtly... inspired! To bring colour to a colourless place. He'd have to ask Pam about art supplies, maybe search the forest for berries to make pigment.

The lighthouse filled his vision again, marking with finality that Jae lay nowhere on these shores. Ohanzee dared to hope it meant the roleplayer had escaped. If he had, then Enoch would be caught immediately, and be next to wash up, not Jae. His hands balled into tight, angry fists.

He prayed this would be the truth.

Pam and Ryan were chatting on the stairs when Ohanzee entered the lighthouse. Pam jumped to her feet, clearly eager to give him a tour. "There isn't much to see in the rooms, but I'm actually really proud of the poem so far! So you gotta start from the beginning," she chimed, pointing to the door on his left. Ohanzee dutifully obeyed, reading the first door:

_'Zero never appeared_   
_Her room empty and untouched_   
_Missing from the rocks_   
_Of the lighthouse.'_

"That makes sense," he nodded thoughtfully.

"What do you mean exactly?" Ryan asked, leaning casually on the wall next to him.

Ohanzee established eye contact, tapping on the door. "It wouldn't make sense if Olivia was here, because she's alive."

Ryan's curiosity died in his eyes and calcified into disbelief. "Did you lose it before you died? I _killed_ her, Ohan."

Ohanzee raised his hands defensively. "Look, I don't know how, but she's alive. I can't explain it. Monobear stopped watching us, so she came out of hiding."

Ryan narrow his gaze, disbelief unyielding, sarcasm and judgement dripping from his mouth. " _Riiiight_. And none of you thought maybe _she_ was the mastermind?"

Ohanzee just sighed out his nose and gave the biggest and grandest of shrugs. "I got nothing dude."

The mortician did not seem happy with that answer. "Yeah, well, I wouldn't be fucking stuck here - wouldn't be fucking _dead_ \- if she wasn't, in fact, _also fucking dead_!" he snapped, turning on his heel and storming into the other room, slamming the door behind him.

They stood there in an uncomfortable pause, Pam following it up, "Uh, you can read Ryan's door pretty easy now..."

Ohanzee stared at the door a while before approaching. He'd have to give Ryan a proper apology and recounting of the events later, instead of being so blunt and tactless. That was a dick move on his part, and a small knot of regret formed in the gut-soup of dread and worry.

_'One appeared_   
_Where there should have been two_   
_Alone on the rocks_   
_Of the lighthouse.'_

He tapped beside the writing. "I like this. Can't wait to see the rest."

Her smile sparkled and prove infectious. Which came as no surprise, since a compliment from one artist to another was a precious thing. At least he felt so.

_'A second appeared_   
_And washed ashore with the tide_   
_Gasping on the rocks_   
_Of the lighthouse.'_

"Were you really gasping?" Ohanzee asked, looking a bit concerned.

"No," she admitted, slightly embarrassed, "but I did vomit up water later. It was more for the imagery, y'know?"

He nodded. "Absolutely. Artistic license."

She gave a double pistol and a wink. "You know it."

He presumed the next door was Dani's, and though he hadn't seen trace of her, he knew the poem would probably give him a better platform to ask questions from.

_'A third appeared_   
_And hid from the two_   
_Gone from the rocks_   
_Of the lighthouse.'_

"She hid from you two? Why?"

"I... kinda conked her with the branch she killed me with..."

Ohanzee's eyes went wide with surprise, looking at Pam in a new light. " _You_ did that? Little scrawny-armed, sweet innocent wordsmith?"

Pam clenched her hands, jumping to her own defense. "I was really mad! How couldn't I be, when she killed me while I was defending her honour!" she paused, shoulders relaxing with shame. "Well... maybe it wasn't exactly like that, but... It didn't feel fair, and I was upset about that."

Walking slow with his arms out to give her plenty of warning, he pulled her into a hug, giving her back some gentle pats. "You were completely right to be. I wasn't meaning to sound judgey, I was just... amazed at the mental image of you swinging a chunk of a tree around."

Pam pulled out of the hug, grinning. "Pam-Hulk mad! Pam-Hulk smash!"

"You fucking memer. Never change."

The next level had three doors, but only one had writing.

"I actually had to guess which room was yours, since I can't open any of the doors," Pam informed him.

A thought came over Ohanzee. "Could you open Olivia's door?"

Pam looked surprised, like she hadn't thought about that. "Yeah, actually. It was unlocked since Ryan got here, I think."

Ohanzee nodded. "Interesting! I have no idea what it means, though."

"Me either," she concurred.

"Let's put a pin in it," he concluded, nodding to himself, "I'm eager to read your verses for me!"

The poet seemed to be containing great pleasure at his interest in her craft. Ohanzee completely sympathized with the feeling.

_'A fourth appeared_   
_And started looking for the fifth_   
_Apprehensive on the rocks_   
_Of the lighthouse.'_

"Yup, that about sums it up!" He flashed her a smile and the thumb of approval. "Ten out of ten."

She laughed behind her hand, clearly pleased. "Shall we see what's behind your door?"

He pulled out his key in a dramatic flourish. "Abso-fucking-lutely," he tmesis'd.

The mattress was as anti-climactic as expected, but the bonus item...

"Is that... Is that a deer head?" asked Pam, clearly surprised by this turn of events.

"I... um... ... ...So it is."

And so it was. There was little use or point in denying it. There was indeed a taxidermy deer head on his fucking floor. It looked strange and... _wrong_ there. It clearly belonged on a wall, not on the floor staring skyward. But when he tried to move it alone, it proved remarkably heavy. "Come on Pam, I need your brawny Hulk bod to accomplish this task."

"Of course, my dainty delicate friend!" Pam grinned, flexing her _oh so impressive_ biceps and miming spitting into her hands. With both of them heaving they made quick work of the head, propping it against the wall, more or less upright.

"So," started Ohanzee, taking a step back to admire their work. "This was what killed me, huh."

"The room pattern seems to agree with that notion," Pam nodded sagely.

"I'll call him... Dasher. Since he dashed my brains out."

"Pam-Hulk definitely agrees with that morbid name."

A blood-curdling scream cut into their self-indulgent laughter from the shore which died with Ohanzee's sinking heart.


	5. Revelry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunion, communion, disillusion

He clawed madly at her throat, desperately trying to reattach his head to her shoulders, to mend flesh and rend away pain. The pain! It hurt! He was going to-! "Enoch! Enoch d-"

"Jae! Jae dude, snap out of it!" The voice was low, slightly panicked, a foggy distance.

"You're safe! You're okay! We're here!" Lighter, like a fairy, soft despite the urgency.

He opened his eyes, gasping through sealed teeth, pupils dilating with adrenaline. His vision filled with two faces, one familiar, the other shocking. Until she took into account her own demise. "Oh my god... he- I'm...Enoch! He-" his voice snagged, unable to continue with the thought.

Jae looked down at his quivering hands, which only stopped when Pam and Ohanzee each took one hand, holding them gently, but the gesture didn't feel comforting at all.

"Jae, I'm so sorry, I failed you...." Ohanzee whispered.

She stared at his hand, then up at him. "The fuck you talking about Ohan?"

He blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback. "Uh...I....was there was Enoch was... cutting off your arm."

She narrowed her eyes, harshly taking her hand back from him. "It wasn't Enoch. Dude, why would my own brother kill me? That's stupid." She didn't wait for his response, rubbing at her neck as she grumbled, "God, I'm going to have nightmares for fucking weeks. If dead people have nightmares," he paused, looking over to Pam, who seemed at a loss for what to do, "Hey Pam, do dead people have nightmares?"

Pam looked to the stunned Ohanzee as she spoke. "Uh, negative, we don't sleep."

"So all that 'you can sleep when you're dead' crap people spewed at me in life was bullshit? Fucking knew it," grumbled Jae again as he let go of Pam's hand, breaking the sappy circle. Standing and brushing sand off his clothes, he placed his fists on his hips expectantly. "Well? Where's the rest of the welcome wagon? Bring 'em out!"

Both of the greeters shuffled awkwardly, Ohanzee look down the shore to avoid responsibility. Pam sighed and took over the discarded duty. "Dani and Ryan are kinda hermited up in their rooms at the moment," the poet noted.

Jae's jaw dropped for a moment. "We get rooms? Fuckin' A! Show me!"

Soon enough she was rapping on Ryan's door. Quoth the Jae, "Get your ass out here so I can hug it you cagey fuck."

The door gave way, presenting Ryan to the world. He looked like shit, but that was hardly new. "You're going to hug my ass?" he laughed.

" _No_ , I'm going to hug _you_ , ass." Jae smirked, opening her arms as wide as they could go in invitation. Ryan laughed again, leaning into the embrace and giving her a hearty thump on the back.

When he pulled away, he looked sheepishly over Jae's shoulder. "Hey, Ohan. Sorry I flipped out on you, that wasn't cool of me. I just-"

Ohanzee gave a dismissive but understanding shrug. "No sweat, I totally understand. I could've been a bit more considerate when I broke it down."

"Okay," interjected Jae, "One: gay. Two: let's take this reunion train to Dani and all have a pow-wow. I imagine I got some shit to catch up on, and it'll make it easier on everyone if it's said once, all at once."

Rapping and quothing again on Dani's door, he yelled, "Intervention is here! Open your door or I'll kick it down!"

The door yielded rather quickly, Dani's face coloured surprised. "Jae, you- Who killed you?"

He shrugged non-commitally. "Dunno, let's discuss it in the great outdoors. Off we go!"

He picked out a nice grassy acre for the communion, motioning for everyone to sit down. "Alright children, gather round.

"We're gunna do this a bit unorthodox because my priorities are not chronological, or even sensical. You!" he planted an accusing finger on Ohanzee's shape. "You said Enoch killed me. You're wrong," Ohan tried to interupt, so Jae raised his voice by three notches, "You know how I know you're wrong? I thought the guy was Enoch at first too. But he wasn't. You know who can look and sound like Enoch in the right light?"

There was a pause as Ohanzee waited to see if Jae was just going to keep talking. Seeing that he wasn't going to, Ohan cleared his throat. "I have no clue dude."

"Well? Anyone have Ohanzee's lost clue? Anyone? Beuler?" He looked about the group, and pointed at Dani, whose hand had shot up. "You, Homestuck trash!"

Dani blinked hard, eyes furrowing "Wh- Calise is Homestuck trash too!" she whined.

"Yeah, well I don't see Calise around here, and I better not, otherwise I got some plush rumps to boot to the fucking moon, now spit it up Neophyte!"

She pouted a bit, but sighed and crossed her arms, which showed off two of the holes in her body and was really fucking creepy. "Jason," she nodded sagely, "I wanted to write a text post about it a couple times. Super fucking weird."

"Super fucking weird is right! You win a new c _aaaaaaaar_!"

Everyone stared openly, despite clearly getting the reference. No way they couldn't have seen that show. Ryan took awkward charge for the moment. "Uh, okay. Jason's the killer. So... what's next on your unchronological list?"

Jae became thoughtful, rubbing his chin. "Hm, good question. Let's pick... changes. Since Dani is clearly swiss cheese, what other freak show shit we got in this cool kids club? Starting with Miss Swiss Cheese's friend herself."

Pam sat up straighter, "That's me right?" seeing Jae nod, she twiddled her thumbs, "Ah, I vomit water in certain situations."

"Whoa whoa back up, what situations we talking about, like in an airplane security line up or when under peer pressure? Spill! Pun fucking intended."

"Maybe we should explain the 'rules' first," Ryan suggested.

With some embarrassing coordination they temporarily left the sweet sweet grass, piling into Olivia's room. Everyone picked up a piece of flint off the ground like children picking up random pebbles to show off to mom or dad. Pam strode casually towards the door with her piece, suddenly wincing and dropping it, water pouring from her mouth in a torrent. Jae even noted that her eyes seemed to water from the pressure of it, like with real vomiting.

"Alright, cool," Jae intoned, "Pam drools like a bulldog, what's next?"

Ryan was what was next, only instead of water his stomach heaved up earth.

"Oh my god you're fertilizer," Jae said with a voice twinkling with wonder. That earned a middle finger from Ryan, which was all the response he could ever want really. "Brotatochip!" he pointed at Ohan, trembling with excitement, "You next, show me what you got!"

What he got was anti-climactic: Ohanzee just buckled to his knees in pain, clutching at his forehead. "What a rip off!" Jae threw his hands up, exasperated, "That isn't fun for anyone. Discomfort for the whole family. Zero out of ten."

"Sorry to disappoint," the artist murmured, getting to his feet. When he pulled his hands away, however, the fun returned.

"Holy shit holy shit holy shit!" Jae was practically giddy, bouncing on his heels. "Ohan you have fucking horns!"

The artist was clearly and understandably confused, but without further question he began gingerly tapping his forehead, rubbing at two small hard bumps at the top of his hairline. "Whoa."

"Me next holy crap," Jae snatched up his own cold mineral shard, practically skipping to the doorway before anyone could dare to suggest otherwise.

It was, honestly, not the worst thing she'd ever felt. It felt like a second death, but like, with maybe a tenth of the intensity of the original big deal. But man, was it worth it when he looked to his right arm, pain still shooting the edges of its tendrils through his guts.

The arm was transparent.

"YESSSSSSSSSS!" he practically air guitared victoriously, though hampered a bit by the subsiding pain. This was WAY cooler than Ohanzee's stubby little horns!

"That's...." Ryan shifted and coughed, "that sure is something."

Pam and Dani both had the notion of poking his ghostly appendage, and executed the action with subjective success: their fingers dipped a little further than normal into his corpus, but yielded at a still reasonable point.

"Holy shit you're Danny Phantom," Dani whispered in awe.

Ryan's face was consumed by his palm. "This is the literal worst moment of my unlife."

"You also have a wicked neck scar," Ohanzee pointed out, "I'd give you a mirror. If we had one."

"Maybe someone will be killed with a mirror and then we'll have one," Ryan laughed darkly, garnering more of Jae's interest.

"Wait is this another one of the rules you gotta tell me about? Holy shit the afterlife is fucking RAD!"

And so it was true, and Jae found himself armed with the very cord that had sent him here. He immediately began fiddling with it, wrapping and unwrapping it around his hands. "Okay, not that this isn't fucking cool as shit, but I think I'm getting really fucking distracted here, let's reconvene on the top of the lighthouse, and I can just stare into the light while we talk."

And so they did, and much effort was expended in getting all the necessary parts in Jae's head, and by then his arm was more or less opaque again, which was massively disappointing. "Well, okay, I forgot everything else I wanted to talk about, so I'll just jab someone when I got a question. Thank you for embarking on this novice adventure with me. Now it's time for me and Ohan to have a bro-to-bro."

Not even pausing to take in reactions, he grasped Ohanzee's wrist, pulling him down the stairs. "Which room is yours, the one beside mine?"

"Y-Yeah."

"Kay cool, prepare your dick."

"WHAT."

Ohanzee figured out it was a joke the moment after, but still displayed wariness when Jae shut the door. She turned to him, saw the deer head, looked to Ohanzee's horns, then to the head, and finally: "YOOOOOO I GET IT THAT'S SO COOL!"

"It.... really isn't," he laughed softly, seating himself on the mattress. Jae sat beside him, still sparkling.

"No, it is, no take backsies." She grinned, but the following moment her expression sobered, "I wasn't aware you had been killed. I'm honestly kinda upset to see you here, because that shit ain't fair. I hate to make you even think about it, but if you're able and stable I'd really like to know what the fuck happened to you."

Ohanzee didn't speak for a while, eyes cast downward, hands weaving tightly together in self-comfort. "I... don't know. I mean, I know what happened, but now it seems so... bizarre. Removed even, especially with us here, y'know? Like it was a dream." He glanced up to Jae, who knew exactly what he meant, but he wasn't about to interrupt the proceedings with empty platitudes.

He tapped his foot idly as he tried to get a grip on language and expression. "I really liked talking to you, so I noticed when you were gone. I thought maybe you'd gone to the bathroom, but then too much time had passed. Like, you could've been stuck on the toilet, which I kept trying to tell myself was the case, but I wanted to- _needed_  to make sure something didn't happen. Of course, you know something did."

Ohanzee looked over to the taxidermy deer head, eyes flickering over it. Jae was dying to know how it related to Ohan's death, but knew the ride would be better if he stayed quiet a liiiittle longer. Patience was hard, man.

When Ohanzee continued, he sounded pained. "Like I said earlier, I found him in the middle of cutting off your arm. I... I didn't even think of shouting. I really should have. But my mind just... zero'd in on him. I had to stop him, there and then. And... well, you know how that ended."

Okay, not more time for patience. "I don't, dude! How did you die? How the fuck does the deer head factor into this fucked up equation? I NEED ANSWERS BRO."

Ohanzee's eyes were wide, and the surprise that touched his face was mixed with a suppressed laugh. Good, he looked better when he wanted to laugh. "Well, we wrestled a bunch, and before you say anything, not the sexy kind. You remember where the deerhead was hanging? Nevermind, doesn't matter. Basically, it was hanging above a door, and Jason was... well, slamming the shit out of my skull into it." he paused to smile, seeming to be looking on it in a humorous way now, "I managed to fight back a little, Jason pulled back, and then- the last thing I remember is looking up to this fucking Bambi fucker coming down on me like a bat out of hell."

Jae wanted to clap, so that's what he damn well did. "Encore! Encore! Game of the Year, all the awards."

Ohanzee laughed a little and- did he fucking blush? _Gay_. "Yeah, so that's it. I guess... I didn't really see how you died, but it seems pretty obvious."

Jae brandished the cord that done did the deed. "You saw my arm, but he fucking noosed me with this connect to a motor. Enoch tried to help, I think he fucked up his hand." He shrugged, setting the cord in his lap. "Can't blame a bro for trying. But the real question here: are you seriously calling the deerhead Bambi or can we give it a better name?"

Ohanzee moved to the deer head, grabbing it by the antlers and lifting it a little. "Nah, Bambi never had a sweet rack like this. Besides, I already named him Dasher, since he dashed my brains out."

"Dark," Jae intoned as he stood moving to Ohanzee and waiting for him to put Dasher down before hugging the shit out of him. Ohanzee seemed surprised, hovering in the hug, not sure if he should return it or not. "Thanks for trying to save me brotato. I really appreciate it."

Ohanzee awkwardly patted him on the back a couple of times before Jae moved away, defaulting into a power pose. "So! What are we going to do to Jason when he gets here?"

The artist rubbed the back of his neck, looking out the small window. Most of the rooms didn't have them, but he was lucky, Jae supposed. "You think they'll catch him? I mean, I have absolute faith in our friends, but the worries creep in."

"Is that even a question?" Jae huffed, puffing out his cheeks for a moment. "Of course they are! They're going to have a field day, there's evidence EVERYWHERE! It's really just a matter of time, though I don't know how you guys measure time here."

"We don't, apparently," Ohanzee admitted, "No one here wore a watch when they died, and the sky always looks the same, even when it rains. Or so the others have told me"

Jae raised a brow. "It rains here? Why?"

Ohanzee moved to the window, squinting through the translucent glass. "Apparently, it rains when a culprit appears."

Fat wet drops began plastering themselves to the window. It looked like they wouldn't have time to conjure a proper plan.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank the Academy,


End file.
